“Then why didn’t you ask?” says Mr. Atkins. “When folks gives an order, and don’t worry none about how much they got to pay for it, I always git a sneakin’ idea it’s because they don’t calc’late they’ll ever have to pay. Funny notion, hain’t it?” “Very,” says Mr. Kinderhook, with a funny kind of a grin. “But you must know me, sir. My name is Kinderhook.” “Seen you ’round town,” says Mr. Atkins. “Been sort of lookin’ you over once or twice. Int’restin’ feller, you be, I sh’u’d say. Got int’restin’ and everythin’. Always wear that high hat?” “I have done so for years.” “Thought so. Habit, hain’t it? Wa’n’t born with it on, was you?” Mr. Kinderhook laughed like he saw a mighty good joke. “No,” he said, “but my mother gave it to me soon after.” “Price of that sign ’ll be a even hunderd dollars,” says Mr. Atkins. “Perfectly satisfactory,” says Mr. Kinderhook, and he started for the door again. “If it’s so doggone satisfactory,” says Mr. Atkins, “jest suppose you plunk down the money—now?” “Before the sign’s completed? Why, that isn’t my way of doing business, sir.” “It’s mine—in some cases,” says Mr. Atkins. “One hunderd dollars—in advance. No hunderd—no sign.” “Don’t you trust me—me? I tell you I am Arthur Peabody Kinderhook.” “Heard you say so. Tell you how it is: ’Tain’t that I mistrust you exact—and ’tain’t that I trust you. I dunno nothin’ about you. If I was to build that sign and spend money for lumber and paint, and put a lot of work onto it, I might worry about whether I was a-goin’ to git paid—if I hadn’t got paid in advance. Worryin’ upsets my stummick and puts me off’n my meals. That’s the idee, mister.” Mr. Kinderhook laughed again, and with a pompous kind of gesture took out his pocket-book and threw five twenty-dollar bills onto the counter. “There you are,” he says, in a grand kind of way. “That shows you I’ve got the money.” “What it shows,” says Mr. Atkins, “is that _I_ got the money. That’s what int’rests me.... Afternoon, mister.” Catty was staring at his father and so was I. The whole business wasn’t like Mr. Atkins at all. There was something _shrewd_ about it that didn’t seem like Catty’s father. And he seemed like he was interested in getting money—which gen’ally he wasn’t. It sort of showed what he _could_ be like if he wanted to—the kind of a man folks wouldn’t smouge very often. “What ails you, Dad?” says Catty. “I never seen you act so before.”